


Going South

by redeem147



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeem147/pseuds/redeem147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What did Anya do when she left Sunnydale in season three? And why she came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going South

"The wheels on the bus go round and round..."

She's heard that song somewhere, but can't remember when or why. Probably vengeance. Vengeance for a child maybe? One of Hallie's? She doesn't know, but it's damned annoying.

"Round and round..."

It won't get out of her head. Another of the million annoyances being human has brought her. She hates it. And of all things, a high school student. One whose high school is probably being destroyed at this very moment. The school, the people. Him.

She won't think about it. This bus will get her as far from there as the three hundred dollars she had left will let her. This smelly bus full of smelly people. Some get off, more get on. Smelly, sweaty, human people.

She pulls away from the woman sitting too close next to her. She's fat. She's unattractive. And she doesn't even speak English. She does however offer Anya a handful of grapes from a plastic bag, smiling an all too human smile. Anya waves her hand in refusal and turns towards the window, as the bus hurls down the highway.

*****

It seemed as good a place as any. She liked the name, though she didn't understand it. ‘Suenos Perdidos'. Sleepy little town. No pressure. No pain.

No joy. There's never really been any real joy for her besides vengeance, and with the looks of frustration on the faces of the women around her, this would have been a goldmine.

She wipes the checkered table and jumps as she feels the slap to her backside. She's given up being angry. Angry doesn't pay. So she turns around with resignation to Jorge's grinning face, the candlelight sparkling on his gold tooth. "What do you want?" she asks.

"Dos cervezas."

She knows that one. She's heard it enough times, in various numerical combinations. "Si." She knows that one too. Has had occasion to use it too many times since she started working at the bar.

Other than that, she hasn't really made an effort to learn the language. To do so would imply she was staying, that she's made this town her home. It isn't her home. She hasn't got a home.

This body isn't her home.

She steps over to the bartender, hiking the blouse a little higher on her shoulders. If the boss sees her, he'll pull it down again. He's a pig. She only lets him touch her enough to keep the job. He likes it when she spits in his face, anyway. Her shift is almost over, and soon she'll head to the rooming house and collapse for the night.

"Hey bebe."

Carlos has come up behind her, laying his hand on her shoulder. "In a minute. I'm getting beers."

He nods like he knows what she's saying. Maybe he does. She hasn't really learned how to read men socially. But he's tall, and relatively good looking, with dark eyes and a mop of black hair.

Which makes her think of Him.

"Anya, mi hermano Juan esta teniendo una fiesta esta noche. Usted vendra, verdad?"

She knows Juan, and she's caught the word ‘fiesta'. Party. "Si." Why the hell not?

*****

He holds the door open for her as she steps inside. This, she supposes, means he is a gentleman. A word belied by the casual way he scratches his crotch.

The room is packed with young people, some swaying together to music. Something loud and rocky. There's a couple necking on the couch. From the back, he looks like ... Best not to go there. Carlos leads her through the sea of bodies into the kitchen, cracking open the fridge and handing her a beer. The screw top is tight, and leaves little indentations in the tip of her thumb. He takes her hand to kiss away the hurt, but she pulls it back. "I'm okay. Really." The bottle is cold, and it takes away the sting.

"Solamento estaba tratando de ayudar. No tiene de ser una bitch!"

She's made him angry. And distinctly heard the word ‘bitch'. She could get defensive, but in a house full of his friends that might not be wise. So she mumbles an insincere "Sorry," and hopes he understands.

He seems placated. He takes her hand and leads her into the living room. There's a smaller man sitting on the easy chair in the corner. "Arriba!" The little man struggles up and Carlos takes the chair, pulling Anya onto his lap. At least it's a place to sit. She takes a deep swallow of her beer, and then another. Things don't seem so bad.

Carlos' hands start to wander. They're big and strong, and with the spreading warmth of the alcohol, she starts to enjoy it. He's touched a little spot on her back that brings a flush to her face. She doesn't mind when he bends her head to his and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is yeasty.

But it's wrong. Their mouths don't fit.

She pulls away. "Want to dance?" she asks. She drags him out of the chair and he seems to get the message.

Maybe this was a mistake. The music suddenly slows, and he's pressing his body against hers. They sway together. His pleasure is unmistakable.

*****

Lying beside him in the back bedroom, his hairy arm draped over her naked torso, she tries to hold back the tears. Nothing in her life has gone right. For thousands of years she was the one in control. She took men like this and obliterated them. Now she's trapped under the arm of a relative stranger.

He's sleeping soundly. She tickles the arm until he rolls over, then slips out of the bed. She dresses in silence. Human remnants of the night before strew the living room. She steps carefully over them and runs out into the night, towards the boarding house.

*****

Every week, after she pays her rent, she takes the leftover and stuffs it under the cookies in the jar. She hasn't counted it for a long time. This morning she dumps out the shortbreads, popping one into her mouth. It tastes stale.

There's over three hundred dollars in cash. She pulls her bag out from under her bed, stuffing it with her meagre belongings.

The ticket agent opens at ten am and she buys a ticket for the next bus north.

In her mind's eye, she sees brown eyes and a mop of dark brown hair. She realizes just how much she's missed that face. She thinks, hopes, that his lips will fit.


End file.
